


BOYS AND BEASTS; BEASTS IN BOYS

by silim



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Friends With Benefits, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:40:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27786877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silim/pseuds/silim
Summary: Together, they’re beautiful and untouchable, empty and loveless.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Suna Rintarou
Comments: 11
Kudos: 47





	BOYS AND BEASTS; BEASTS IN BOYS

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you find a love that would make you want to live longer, happier. 
> 
> CONTENT WARNINGS: implied abuse, alcohol, use of body imagery

_They yearn what they fear for._

Dante Alighieri, _Inferno_

There are features you can only find in sad boys, broken boys. Boys left behind because their fathers were liars, or cursed because their mothers were fools. Boys like Rintarou Suna with sad eyes, sad smiles, and a sad life. These are boys who bloomed in shadowed corners of rooms, in blue-tiled bathrooms, and under splintered fists. And in all of those, Rintarou is nothing short of beautiful: the kind of beauty that should never be touched. No one dares to, anyway, not even Rintarou himself. To unravel one is to see the horrors beneath flesh, muscle, and bone; they musn’t see the light of day.

Then there are those like Atsumu Miya: less of a boy, less of a man, and more of a monster in a human body. If insatiable hunger had a face, it would be Atsumu — oh, what a handsome face it is even under the dim, fluorescent lighting of the _izakaya_. It doesn’t matter whether he’s meant for greatness; Atsumu is born from the depths of Inferno. He will make it happen, that reckoning of his. All of Japan love him the way fools do when desiring what they can’t have; the way the blind do in loving whom they can’t see. 

“Tell me, Rintarou,” Atsumu says, “do you want to be loved?”

Rintarou, apathetic, hums in reply while stirring his drink. “Don’t we all?” 

“I wasn’t referring to the damn world; I was referring to you.”

Now this catches Rintarou’s attention. He turns his head to look at Atsumu, resting his chin on his palm’s heel. Atsumu, in turn, meets his gaze; his pupils, the pools of the earth’s oceans — Rintarou could drown in them if he looked too long. In that moment, he couldn’t help but shudder at his cold, hard gaze, shudder at the thought: _What a terrifying creature you are, Atsumu Miya._

With a slender finger, Rintarou traces a line down Atsumu’s sleeve. “I adore you,” he purrs, but Atsumu only rolls his eyes. Then, he leans in closely and whispers into Atsumu’s ear, “Name me a person who wouldn’t want to be loved.”

What a laughable desire it is, to be loved, but all the more selfish. What becomes of mankind in the absence of self-satisfaction, of life in the denial of oneself, of Rintarou when there is no one left to spite him? Oh, such tender violence: teeth sinking into flesh, fingers tugging on locks, nails raking his spine, and lips whispering: More, more, more. Atsumu, always hungry; Rintarou, always empty. They can never have their fill because they do not know what they seek — gratification? A pasttime? — but for sure, it is not love. 

How bold of them — the poets, the media, Osamu Miya himself — to judge that Rintarou seeks love in a space shared with Atsumu.

Still. What a nice thing love might be: to be loved so sweetly that your teeth break, so earnestly that your skin falls off, so much that your heart gives out. Rintarou likes nice things, sweet things, and wicked things and so did Atsumu. But there is no love in their house of cards nor will there ever be. Still. The line between monsters and men remains blurred, but truly, does it matter? Atsumu could come for Rintarou’s throat, or rip his heart out of the ribcage, and Rintarou would oblige to be his pretty, playful prey.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” 

“Oh?” Rintarou blinks innocently at Atsumu. He’s a lion ready to bear its teeth and unhinge its jaw. _His pretty playful prey_. “Humor me, then.” 

The answer is simple, plain as day. For the truth favored no one, owed no debt, and preserved the beauty and terror it holds in the mercy of the beholder — Rintarou knew this much. And yet, something within him aches. It demands to be known, to be acknowledged because Atsumu can’t — and isn’t willing to — touch it, to touch him. No, he has never touched anything — let alone anyone — without leaving the wake of destruction and applauses of admiration behind. So Rintarou leaves it as is, like always: untouched, unwanted, and untreated. 

In one swig, he downs his margarita, grabs a fistful of Atsumu’s shirt, and pulls Atsumu into a kiss. The name doesn’t matter; it never has; it never will. He’ll never say it, anyway; they say nothing about everything. Ruination awaits Rintarou because what else is left within him that has not been destroyed under someone’s fists, through someone’s lips, and in his own skin? _I’m broken_ , Rintarou thinks — cynical and intoxicated in the sensual, liminal state of violence, desire, and greed. _So, so broken._

Indeed, what a laughable desire it is to _want_ love. Together, they’re beautiful and untouchable, empty and loveless. They are neither boys nor beasts; only two tangled bodies dying to themselves to chance upon a fleeting moment of what it is to be truly, _wholly_ loved. 

**Author's Note:**

> all interpretations are to your discretion, but i’d love to know what they are.
> 
> come say hello if you wish to: [twitter](https://twitter.com/wisticisms)


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